


Once More With Feeling

by Mimsys



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: 5 Times, Fluff, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-08 01:22:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5478026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mimsys/pseuds/Mimsys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Baz had to turn back time, and one time he decided not to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Once More With Feeling

**Author's Note:**

> Someone please fangirl about these characters with me, please. Also, looking for a beta in the fandom.

Snow’s straddling the back of a dragon’s neck - Crowley, of course he is, I shouldn’t even be surprised - and I tell myself that I’m just worried about the dragon when I run out towards them. “You’re flammable!” Snow yells as he plunges his sword into the side of the dragon’s neck, dripping blood like molten fire and risking starting a chain of dark magic he doesn’t even understand. Not to mention nearly alerting everyone in the whole school that I’m a vampire.

I cast the spell as much to stop the comment as the bite of steel into the poor dragon’s neck. “ **Once more with feeling!** ” I snarl, putting as much power as I can behind the words. Within seconds, the isolated time skip has taken effect. The words have been swallowed up again, the sword has been pulled out as smoothly as it was brought down, and Simon seems dazed; still, he doesn’t hesitate to raise his sword again, ready to act as decisively as he had the first time. “ **Ice, ice, baby!** ” I spit out the lyrics, praying it will be enough; when my roommate’s sword frosts over with ice and he drops it from the cold, I step closer. “Snow, please. Trust me. The dragon’s not here to hurt us. Let me send him away. Unharmed, please.” Maybe please really is a magic word, because he meets my eyes and nods once sharply.

I don’t think he trusts me; he never really has, after all. Still, he scrambles down after his sword and banishes it, moving to stand behind me. His warm hands are pressed against my back, fingers spread and palms flat, and I feel stronger than I ever have before. “ **Shoo fly, don’t bother me.** ” I cast banishing spell after banishing spell, words coming out strong and fast; I can feel Simon’s magic coursing through me, making my already solid spells stronger. His immense well of magic has been opened up to me, and I feel like I’m drowning in it. It’s delicious, but it reminds me that when we face each other down the line, I won’t be able to survive it.

When the dragon finally lifts his wings and flies away, I turn towards Simon and peel his trembling hands from me. “Come on, Snow. People are staring. Help me send them away, and then we can go. We’ll talk about this, alright?” He nods, a flush spreading across his cheeks in a way that draws attention to his freckles and moles, the perfect imperfections that I want to map out under my lips. “Go back to our room, Snow. We’ll handle this later.”

The next time I have to cast _once more with feeling_ , one of Dev’s friends had cast a spell at Simon that was universally forbidden, the most forbidden of the forbidden phrases. _Another one bites the dust_ had come from his ring fast like a bullet, biting and dangerous, and Simon hadn’t had time to blow up to protect himself. I didn’t stop to think, didn’t have time to step between them, so the time reversal came naturally to my wand; I’d been practicing it since the day I’d saved the dragon’s life and kept my own vampirism a secret from all of Watford’s students and staff.

“Baz!” The redheaded idiot seems surprised that I would protect Simon (so does Simon, which hurts) and raises his hand again. Before he can cast a single spell through his ring, I fill my palm with fire and raise it as well. “Alright, alright. I didn’t mean anything by it, Pitch.” I don’t care. I’m shaking with rage at how unsteady Simon looks; he's supposed to be flushed and healthy, running around with powdered sugar on the corner of his lips from his latest scone, not paler than me and clutching at his hand me down wand so hard it might break.

The idiot who’d tried to kill him, a third year named Brian, gets expelled the moment the Mage receives an anonymous tip about the attack. His ring is shattered, his mouth sealed with a **zip your lips** , and he’s never heard from again. Simon never thanks me, never acknowledges the role I played, but he sleeps easier after that, and that’s enough.

Time passes, and I think that maybe Simon’s done needing me to look after him. He’s faced death more times than either of us can count; surely he can handle his last stretch at Watford without needing me to hold his hand.

The next time I cast the spell, it’s because Simon’s sitting on our windowsill and looking out at the clouds. Our first year, I would have debated pushing him out despite the anathema; months ago, I would have made a joke about how he could never close the bloody window. Now I just want to curl my arms up around him and pull him to safety. I step closer, a warning on my lips. He turns to face me, eyes lit up in greeting, and then I see the fear fill them as he slips slightly from the movement. “Baz-” He chokes out as he begins to slip, hands scrambling for purchase.

“ **ONCE MORE WITH FEELING!** ” I roar, lunging forward, clutching at the back of his sweater once he’s back within range; I pull him inside, panting harshly and with eyes wet even if I won’t admit it. He’s not shaky this time, even though I think he should be, and I huff as I throw him towards his bed. “I’m going to see if I can get a thermos of cocoa from the kitchens. Stay in bed.” I slam the window shut as I storm out, and it almost shatters.

We go weeks without mentioning Simon’s brushes with death this semester; things have finally settled down and we’re all safe and doing well in our classes. That’s partially in thanks to Bunce, who shows up when we most need encouragement and help; I don’t think she really trusts me yet,, but I’m not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. I’m just glad everyone’s okay. I haven’t been feeding as well as I used to, but there’s nothing that can be done about it. The catacombs are too dark, remind me too much of the coffin I’d spent six weeks in, and I’ve been too focused on the search for my mom to do what I should.

When Simon stumbles into our room with a cut on his jaw and scrapes on his palms, it’s a temptation I can’t ignore. “Cross.” I hiss out, turning away from him even as the scent of blood and Simon’s magic flood the room. “Are you wearing it?” He is, but it’s not enough. He comes over to me, babbling about some new discovery, and he doesn’t realize the danger he’s in until I’ve dipped my head to nuzzle at his jaw, making him tip it up so that I can lap at the clinging drops of scarlet.

He lets out a soft sound, almost a moan, and I yank away, grabbing his cross tightly so the burning pain will ground me again. He meets my eyes as I whisper the spell, enough to stop me from tasting him, enough for him to forget it except for the nightmares he doesn’t think I know about. I dream about it too, if I’m being honest, but it’s with a soft moan as I imagine his skin and blood under my mouth

The last time I ever cast the spell on Simon, he was trying out his new wings when his flight wasn’t powered by adrenaline and fear. He kept running into trees, prompting soft utterances of the spell that gave him a few more seconds to evade the obstacles in his way. He laughs sheepishly and apologizes once he’s on his feet again, saying he wouldn’t have minded a few bumps or scratches. I would mind, I protest, because the only bruises on his skin should be from my lips.

I was tempted once, when I’d asked him to marry me and there was a moment of shocked silence in response; I thought he wasn’t ready, that I was pushing him too soon, that he needed time to adjust to the flux of magic around him that he could feel but couldn’t reach, couldn’t use. I’d already convinced myself not to draw my wand, not to tamper with a defining moment of our relationship, when I feel his tail curl around me and tug me close. “I’ve always been a terrible boyfriend, Baz, but I’d love to be your terrible husband if you’ll let me.” 

I kiss every mole, kiss the scar under his ear from an adventure I still haven’t heard about. “You know what Snow? Simon… I think we’ll carry on anyways. I love you, my terrible fiance.” He laughs, a light sound that I’ll always crave as much as the rich taste of his blood or the way his cheeks flush whenever I brush my lips to his. “I love you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave kudos if you enjoyed. Thank you.


End file.
